Not for me, not for you
by Thomas Simpson
Summary: Desire corrupts love


The fucking stupid whore. She was told once already, he thought. Keep her nose out of his business, and she wont get hurt. But no, she thought she knew best. She had to have her say. And what happened? Well, exactly what he said. Hammer, right to the mouth. She went down easier than before. Her jaw was broke before she hit the floor. If she wasn't unconscious she may have stopped her face from causing the sickening noise it did as it hit the floor. Her right cheek was fractured. She was still breathing, not that he cared. He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. He ripped of the top with the hammer and greedily guzzled at it. He looked down at her with disdain. He contemplated hitting her again but decided not to. He sat in his chair and flicked through the TV. Beer in one hand, remote in the other. Hammer on the right arm of the chair, keeping it close. She still didn't move. He barely gave her a second thought. He cared not if she was dead, bitch was a hassle to him regardless. Stupid cunt. If she was breathing he may have to change that. He sat with a vacant stare, gazing idly at the TV. Surfing the channels, stopping at some cheap porn film. It was badly dubbed and even worse acted. It wasn't even hardcore, but a bit of tit was enough to get him in the mood. He started rubbing himself before downing the rest of the beer. He smashed the empty bottle against the wall like so many other times he was drunk. "Wake up whore" he shouted. His inebriation showing as he struggled to get to his feet. An erection would be a miracle at this point. No matter, it would be her fault. He started to undo his belt as he hurled abuse at her. He started to spit on her, kick at her in an attempt to wake her. It didn't work. He was about to kneel next to her when something made him stumble. He hit the wall, hard, clasping his head. It was a strange sensation, not painful but wholly unpleasant nonetheless. His face started to burn slightly, then his arms. Next, they started to itch. He frantically scratched in a futile attempt to subdue it. Quickly it began to hurt. The burning grew as did the itch. This caused him to scratch more which added to his pain. He started to draw blood as his scratching became more aggressive. As the blood flowed he noticed boils start to appear. The shock of seeing them didn't stop the itch as it intensified, the boils pulsating on his flesh. Like all bubbles, they reach their threshold and they burst. Blood and pus ran over his arms and his face as the infection rapidly consumed his body. The pain and shock came close to paralysing him as he began to feel them in his mouth and throat. Barely able to move, he writhed on the floor, pathetically attempting to quench the itch. It was to no avail. The bleeding became internal as boils grew and burst over his stomach, liver and lungs. His insides were plagued by the boils, decimating him from within. They quickly consumed his heart, as he lay miserably getting closer to death. His body lay stationary as his liquefied organs poured from every orifice and pore in his body. It was then that she started to stir. She got to her feet, groggy, her face a mess. She looked down at his body. A bloody mess that was her husband. No tears were shed, for him anyway. Bastard got what he deserved. It was only a mater of time. Wasn't always like this though was it? She did try and help him, God help her she tried. But he was obsessed. And slowly as the years passed the man she married disappeared. She understood more than he did. She still does, that's why she's still alive. She stepped over his partial remains, stumbling slightly, and walked towards the bedroom. She resumed looking though the chest of drawers, she was so close when he arrived home. The stale smell of whores and whiskey on his breath. She could swear she smelled another man's cum also. Now where was it, ah…there it is. She pulled it out and examined it. The old wooden box that drove her husband insane. She glanced at it's brass etchings, mesmerised how they caught the light. Now she had it, she knew what must be done. She closed the door, and slowly undressed herself. When she was completely naked she sat cross legged on the bed. She then stared to caress the box, as she would a lover or a dangerous animal. Fear and excitement coursed through her. Slowly she started to run her fingers over the etchings. She had the key, the door wouldn't be locked for much longer. She would prove why she was worthy.


End file.
